Wild Women

Cotton tails and jacks lope away from the headlights

as we chatter our way up the mesa.

Standing at the volcanoes

under an outrageous moon,

twirling under stars,

breathing deep the sweet scent of desert grass

still wet from rain,

stories on stories

tumble from both of us.

We try to teach each other

our whole lives

in one night.

We're wild mares,

gamboling in moonlight.

We're craggy boulders,

firm on the earth.

We're giggling girls,

running with wind in our fists.

We're ancient witches,

keeping the Wild Things free.

She shimmers silver of moon

and my eyes are moist with joy.

She glows with silliness and hope and strength and anger.

Her hair wafts up from her face in a halo of light.

I hold her,

to satisfy this ache in my breast bone,

where I want her to be.

A small yawn escapes her mouth

and I know she needs to sleep.

So I'm the one who says we must leave.

We chatter back down the mesa,

into the twinkle of city,

wind blowing our hair.

I gather her soft hair

in my tingling fingers

and tug gently.

I tell her again

how beautiful she is,

what a Gift she is for me.

She's already making plans for us

to have other adventures.

My heart opens

like mouths of a hundred-voice chorus.

I'm falling in love.

by Rogi Riverstone 6/30/2004 11:28:24 PM